A doggone sad day

The picture of my dear Millie wearing a Christmas scarf, which was inscribed "fleas navidad", is a favorite. But as of September 26th, all I have now are memories of this extraordinary beagle and best friend. It took some time to even write about her, and tears well up in the eyes as I compose this eulogy. The smaller picture was taken on her last day, and my son took it at my request.

Millie had contracted a fast growing cancer sometime this past summer,up in Missouri, and we had taken her to our family vet twice for x-rays. We knew she'd not survive, and chemo therapy or surgery would not defeat the cancer, only extend her perhaps weeks, and that would only be to make us feel better as the dog worsened. She made the last trip south in the car, but clearly she was not her old self. Calling her "old" may have been the wrong word, as she was only eleven years and one month when her time came, about five years short of my prior beagles. She was my best girl, because after I retired she was with me always....a constant companion. My daughter brought her into my life one year after losing my prior beagle, when Caitlin was still in high school. A black & white photo, shot by Caitlin for a photography class, sits in my new den. Her "Executive Beagle" name tag/picture ID from my old job, taken prior to 2003, sits in my top desk drawer. There are reminders of this dear friend elsewhere, and her image is seared into my brain. She may be gone from this life, but she'll live with me forever.

My son went with me to the vet on the island, who looked at the x-rays taken up north and concurred it would be best for all to end her life with peace and dignity. J.B. sent me out of the room, and held her quietly as the vet gave her something to relax her and make her drowsy, before administering the final shot. I was a mess that day, and probably days thereafter - hence no recent blogging.

Yesterday, or maybe it was the day before, I took her three dog beds (all in good condition and laundered) to donate to a friend who works with no-kill shelters and rescue organizations. Millie had a Missouri bed, a Florida bed, and a Corvette traveling bed. Hopefully, three dogs who've not had the love we gave Millie will enjoy this gift, and I know I feel better having done so.

Hopefully, this blog will be somewhat cathartic, and I can move on and start writing as there is much to tell, of happier note and times. God Bless Millie the Beagle, she is now with Schautzie, Cassie, Fancy, and Lucky - I have five wonderful bitches waiting for me in heaven. All dogs do go to heaven, after all.

Packing to Leave

On Wednesday, the packers came and found us well along in terms of being ready. They were there to wrap up the really valuable stuff that we'd probably break, like the electronics and the kitchen. I was responsible for the lower level, which included the "man cave" and the two car garage, and my wife was responsible for the uppermost level with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, closets and laundry area. We shared responsibility for the main level, although I'll admit she was far more focused on doing it right and I was reduced to packing up books and VHS tapes and DVD's. You're welcome to ask "why" on the VHS tapes (I also saved reel-to-reel tapes and cassettes), but let it suffice that I'm willing to admit being somewhat of a pack rat.

I had one much better picture of how the main level looked the morning the moving van arrived, but in the middle of it was a view of my wife sitting at the table and drinking coffee while barely awake. Those are the kinds of pictures you don't publish, for fear of your life. I did include my garage shot, with things that I'll soon be asking myself "why the hell did I pay to move this?". That would include the golf clubs, which I haven't used in at least ten years, and the Schwinn World Traveler bicycle, which I only rode once in the last five years with the exception of the ride from the free air pump at the gas station across the highway. Riding that bike uphill into the condo complex was breathtaking, but not in the picturesque use of the word. Also included was the dog carrier - never used for the last three beagles, but one of those "someday we might need this" type items. Perhaps someday there will be a new puppy that will need to be caged during the housebreaking phase. We will need the 8 foot ladder, as the new house does indeed have tall ceilings as did the Missouri condo, and as for the workbench (not shown), my only justification is that "I built it, and considering my limited ability with tools, I'm too proud to discard it".

The following day, the moving van showed up and we took up less space than I expected, and after being weighed we found our cost to move was $500 less than the estimate. So, I guess if you consider success as being defined by limiting the crap factor, we were above average for a cross country move. And that's not so bad, to be above average in the world - it beats my high school academic record where I wasn't above average but took pride in making the upper half of the class possible.

One final comment - we used Wheaton Van Lines in St. Louis, and Patrick Hazzard was the third generation of his family to carry the affiliation. I cannot say enough good things about our moving experience, and I actually look forward to the unloading phase to take place here in Florida in two days. If you gotta go, go with a professional.

Five years and counting

Before I left Missouri, I had the opportunity to take some "cold weather" clothing out to my daughter's home, so when we visit in the future, and come by air, she could meet us at the airport with warm coats. Why feel obligated to keep cold weather gear in Florida, where the lowest temperatures are always above freezing. Of course, this required going out during the day and dropping off stuff at her house. That included the kind of stuff we couldn't take with us, since the U.S. Department of Agriculture forbids moving live plants and vegetables into Florida (and several other southern states) by moving van. My wife offered up our planters that used to sit on the porch rail at the condo in Wildwood - hopefully they'll survive my daughter's care in her new suburb.

Following our delivery chores, we took advantage of her lunch hour, where I got my first look at my daughter's new office, following her promotion to Assistant Manager.

I spotted her Five Year award, so I snapped a picture of it. Five years in one place is a lifetime for people in her generation, but she reminded me that the bank had paid for her Masters degree and if she didn't stay, she'd owe them big time. During that five years, she's worked for three different banks, all of them connected by merger or acquisition. She was hired by a local bank following college, which was subsequently gobbled up by a relatively small regional bank, which in turn was consumed by an even bigger regional bank. She tells me her new bank is the nation's fourth or fifth largest. I sure hope she doesn't get lost in there. All I'm certain of is that in the banking world, the best job is that of the printing firms that do letterhead and business cards.

In the days immediately following these "snaps", I would find myself packing up the Missouri condo and awaiting the moving van. We are taking our stuff south to a new house, but left some with our daughter and son-in-law, who were considerate enough to purchase a four bedroom home with plenty of room in the basement for a mother-in-law apartment when babies come. The nice thing about down-sizing is that your children are always happy to take some of your furniture.

Goodbye, little silver BMW

Today's assignment, find a buyer for the soon to be no longer needed third car. By consolidating our "carbon footprint" and moving from two condos into one (albeit somewhat larger) home, we found ourselves with just ONE 2-car garage, and new subdivision rules against driveway parking.

We had kept a car in Missouri, and a car in Florida, for my wife to drive. I enjoy driving my Corvette, so it became the "up and down" car and was used 12 months a year. My wife favored the little Z-4 BMW, so the 300 convertible was the logical car to go. We decided to sell it to a dealer, rather than mess with Craig's List, E-Bay, Emily's List, the neighborhood BP station with a windshield sign, etc.

I first went to Kelly Blue Book on the Internet - they showed this car had a private party value of 18,000 to 19,700. That of course was a goal to reach should I have dealt with a private sale. I decided that, frankly, was too much trouble. I felt I had more important fish to fry, so I went to the next level - we checked into the Mannheim Auto Auction pricing. There we learned that similar cars were fetching between 13,000 and 14,000 dollars. Those auctions are where used car dealers pick up their product to later resell at Kelly Blue Book prices, or more.

So, thoroughly armed with a new reality, I went seeking a buyer, and over several days had secured two offers. I accepted the one from a local BMW dealer who was willing to pay me $500 more than the next highest offer, at the top of the Mannheim price range. In return for the money, he got a 2004 with only 29,000 actual miles on it. Having purchased it in 2006, when it was two years old and had 5,000 on the odometer, we got another 24,000 miles (over four years) out of this car. I'm sure the dealer will mark it up and be happy with his deal, but in the end the convenience made me happy as well.

Soon, we'll be down to two drivers and two cars. There's a certainly symmetry there, and I feel good about it. A call to cancel the insurance made me feel even better, from the savings I'll have. I have reduced my carbon footprint! Al Gore - you can be proud of me!

Last Parade in MO for Me

Saturday morning, the eleventh of September, I participated in my last parade in Missouri. In a week, I'll be driving down to Florida where a whole new set of politicians await. While I was driving the daughter of our State Representative (Katie had graduated from the stroller, but decided walking with mom and dad was easily trumped by riding in the Corvette), I snapped several pictures of the crowd and the "luminaries". Katie stood up on the passenger side and waved to her grade school friends. She was not impressed with the car, only the fact she was a star.

Turning the corner of one street, I almost ran over our Congressman from the 2nd District. Another shot took in another Congressman, Roy Blunt, who is running for Senate this year. That's Roy at the top of the blog, and Todd Akin (to the right of the dog) with his back turned on me. Come to think of it, Todd is to the right of many in Congress as well.

A somewhat larger picture is of my friend Tim, who is our local State Representative. Tim was caught preparing the troops for the event, dispensing supplies from the rear of his SUV. The volunteers would then dismount from the trailer and pass out candy, t-shirts, bumper stickers, etc. A friends truck (not shown) would pull the trailer.....you didn't think I'd do that to a Corvette, did you? Call me crazy, but don't call me to haul a trailer down Main Street.

The town, from the top of the hill, is Eureka, Missouri - a neighbor to my City of Wildwood, where I lived and served (as Councilman and Mayor) from 1986 to 2010. It is quintessentially Main Street America. A place where people turn out to watch parades, to wave to the marching units, to listen to the bands, to endure the politicians, and to cap it off with a carnival in the town park. My town in Florida doesn't compete with these Midwestern values, but hopefully I can import a few with my furniture when I move. My Missouri friends will always have a place to visit when they come see me at the beach on Longboat Key.

Size of their toys

It wouldn't be a hometown parade without these guys. It has been said that the difference between men and boys is the size of their toys. Having snapped these pictures, I decided to give them their own blog entry - probably the shortest blog I'll ever write. Leaving you with several questions.......how in hell did they stuff that big guy into that little car? And what's that funny thing perched on his head? Yes, of course - it's a fez, and these are members of a Masonic group known as the Shrine. They do many good deeds, but when it comes to parades, their inner child escapes into undersized vehicles driven by over-sized drivers.

These shots were taken during the "set up" of the Eureka Days Parade, held in next-door Eureka, where the town holds a carnival and parade during Eureka Days. Never go to a small town celebration without a camera, for this is where one captures the true spirit of America.

Banking in the blood

Not sure why I came across this, maybe it was for my daughter to see, as she is now engaged in the banking business. My career was finance, specifically the use of bonds to purchase student loans on the secondary market. Money seemed to run in the family, although it was generally others, not ours.

The Internet however is very elucidating, and in my search I discovered that my great grandfather John Franklin "Frank" Wild opened Indiana's first bond house in Anderson, Indiana in 1891 (moving same to Indianapolis soon thereafter). Buying and selling bonds would be the start of his fortune, and ultimately the end in 1927. Of course, the theft (more later) and the Depression didn't help.

I came across a publication called the Mercantile & Financial Times, which was "Devoted to Money, Finance & the Mercantile Interests of the United States". A lofty journalistic masthead to say the least. It appears to have been what we'd call today a "commercial newspaper" where public notices were featured, amongst some journalism. Going to the 12/19/1908 issue #77, on page five was (under Banking) this sub-headline "Indianapolis Banks - State Bank of J.F. Wild & Co. One of the Thriving Financial Institutions of the City"

The article went on to reveal that my great-grandfather's bank was a "private bank operating under State supervision." It was described to be "By far the largest bank in this class" and went on to describe "capital of $25,000 and surplus and profits of $6,357". I got a chuckle out of "These (aforementioned) items, together with the $3,500 at which the bank's vaults, furniture and fixtures are conservatively appraised, make up the total of it's resources, amount to $850,224.

I found the language in the article was certainly flowery (I guess that's how they wrote back then) and it went on to say "It is reasonable to assume that the banks assets are all of the desirable and safe kind and worth on any ordinary market all, or more than all, the value ascribed to them in the report." The report would refer to the twice annually required "call report" for private banks of that era. That paragraph continued "Aside from this, the well-known character of the banks' proprietors is such as leaves no room to doubt either their personal integrity or their possession of the expert financial ability required to conduct the business safely, faithfully and to the perfect satisfaction of all the bank's customers." [no doubt this journalist went on to become a press agent]

The colorful writer then went on to reveal "The liberality and fairness of the bank are shown in its policy of paying interest at the rate of three percent per annum on commercial depositors' daily balances of one hundred dollars or more, subject to check, and of four percent interest on all savings accounts." OK - nobody today is offering 3% on checking and 4% on savings. As an aside, I still have a yardstick from that bank (now over 90 years old and very solid wood) that advertises those exact rates.

The story ended by stating "As a depository for commercial or savings accounts, a place to buy or sell securities, to negotiate loans or to transact other banking business, we do not suppose there is in Indianapolis a bank that is safer, nor any where more liberal treatment or greater consideration and courtesy can be counted upon more certainly than in this State Bank of J.F. Wild & Co.

Skip forward a few years, and I found that the bank in 1919 had resources of $2,701,085.70 [from an Indiana "call report"]. The picture above shows the bank building at 129 E. Market Street in Indianapolis. Back when I left Indy in 1978, and somewhat more recent visits in the 90's, I was able to glimpse the name J.F. Wild Bank chiseled into the stone above the door, albeit hidden by the sign for whatever organization was using the building at that time. The story also says the building, mostly vacant, sold for 750,000 in 2008. Great grandfather apparently built it to last, just not in a way my generation saw any of this earlier dynasty.
Frank Wild's son, John F. Jr. had passed away in his 30's, and my father never entered banking but made his career in public relations and the Air Force reserve. My dad could never write flowery press releases, however. Maybe I'm related instead to that writer for the Mercantile & Financial Times.

The J.F. Wild Bank was closed by state auditors on July 30, 1927, as a result of failure to come up with additional capital following the theft of $275,000 in "Liberty Bonds" the prior September. During the 1920's, there were numerous bank robberies, and I even found a story in the Indiana Magazine of History (online) called "Vigilantism as a Response to Bank Crimes in 1925-1933". Liberty Bonds were often the target, as they were negotiable same as cash. In fact, in my career "bearer bonds" with coupons were issued up through 1985, when finally replaced by registered bonds which would only "clear" through banks provided sufficient proof of ownership. At a time when money was tighter than even today, Frank Wild ran out of time allowed to secure additional capital from investors, and the bank was dissolved. From family stories, depositors got back all of their money, but family real estate holdings on the north side of Indianapolis were liquidated to make it possible.

Great grandfather John Franklin Wild was President of the bank, his brother Leonard was Cashier. In Noblesville, Indiana, I am told there is still a building on the town square with the Wild name also inscribed - going back to the start of mercantile business (dry goods in this case) following the brothers coming to America from Ulm, Germany. There's a cemetery in Noblesville full of Wilds, including my father John F. Wild III. My mother laid down the law, so I am John David, not J.F. the Fourth. Had that happened, mother would have taken to consuming a Fifth every day thereafter.

In 1928, in Citrus County Florida, the Great Depression was credited with beginning. Bank robberies conspired to eliminate any chance of a silver spoon for me, and I suspect this next Depression will do the same for my daughter, the banker. Meanwhile I've moved - at least three counties south of Citrus in Florida. Hope it'll turn out to be far enough away.